Family ties
by thevintagekid
Summary: I did not know which was worse, that I knew the girl, or that her revolver was pointed at my heart.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N Any characters you don't recognise are my own :3 and I apologise if my Spanish isn't so great, I am learning so if you spot a mistake with it please let me know:3 Sadly i own neither Holmes or Watson so please read and enjoy and review! hopefully will have chapter 2 soon when I'm not busy with my lit coursework :3_

I could scarcely believe the face that looked up at me. I saw not the face of a ruthless, cold hearted assassin but the face of the scared 16 year old girl. Her indigo eyes were wide beneath her blonde fringe and curls. I did not know which was worse, that I knew the girl, or that her revolver was pointed at my heart. But I get ahead of myself. I must tell the story from the beginning, not the middle.

Holmes and I were spending our evening idling by the fire in our rooms when he out of the blue enquired as to whom I had met up with earlier. This was not unusual of my detective, but what surprised me was that he had not already deduced who it was and told me his life story. He put his cigarette down on the tiger skin rug he was sprawled across, turning to face me, brown eyes meeting my blue ones.

"Who were you with Watson dear? He was certainly a handsome young man." Holmes smiled at me slyly.

"How would you know he was handsome, old boy?" I asked, looking up from the newspaper. "When you were here all afternoon?"

"Ah, but Watson, do you not recall that prostitute you passed as you entered the park?" there was a flash of a mischievous smile.

I laughed. "If you really must know, it was my cousin. James Rain."

My companion's eyes lit up and I knew he was now about to reveal the life story of my cousin to me. Holmes sat up and grabbed hold of a discarded paper that lay scattered across the carpet. The detective waved an article in my face with a teasing yet knowing smile. To my surprise there was a photograph of my cousin, who looked devilishly handsome with his elegant blond curls, neat little moustache and a smile that I believed could charm the devil himself if required.

"I knew that I recognised him!" Holmes began to pace excitedly like a puppy for who wants a walk as he began his explanation. "James Rain, the rising star of the police force. I have heard Lestrade speak of him, he is only 3 and twenty and already a detective. They say that he will make inspector before the year is out."

"James is very clever, my dear Holmes, like you." I folded the newspaper and stretched my numb legs. "Difference is, he is not arrogant about it like you."

Holmes feigned offence before leaning over me and continuing his explanation. "I hear also that he is an excellent lover and very satisfying in that department, shall we say." He leant so close I could feel his breath against my neck. "Much like you, John dear."

I blushed with embarrassment, muttering nonsense about if our long suffering landlady should hear us. Holmes smiled, boldly stating to let Mrs Hudson hear us. I pushed him aside and reached for my coat, suggesting that we stretch our legs as we had spent the whole day idle. My detective readily complied with my wish for once, and we left in high spirits. Of course, I did not realise then how our evening would turn out; that I would have the blood of a child on my hands. But I am ahead of myself again. Holmes and I were walking back towards Baker Street after our evening tour of the park, discussing a case which my companion had recently begun. The case was an interesting one, involving a girls school that was not only producing model young ladies into society but highly skilled assassins too. my detective had interest in the case that was unknown to me, but I knew his interest in the girls school was unwanted. I paused to light a cigarette when I notice two young gentle men dressed in smart attire. They had been following the same path as us for a while now, and Holmes had grown suspicious. He led me by the elbow into a side alley, glancing round him all the time.

"Watson, dear, I believe we are being followed." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Those young gentlemen?" I asked, gesturing to them with a quick glance.

"Look closer. Those young 'gentlemen', as you put it, are in fact young women." Holmes paused for thought. "In fact, I believe one is merely a child."

I had not the time to ask him what he meant when the young women in gentlemen's attire were upon us. Holmes was right. One of them was merely a child, no older then sixteen, but the men's clothes she wore did nothing to hide her curvaceous, womanly figure. Her companion was older, her skin tanned and exotic; a rare beauty. The older girl's eyes were a brilliant green, mesmerising to look at. The two girls made their way to us, the lower halves of their faces obscured by scarves. This was not our evening. Holmes and I were trapped in alley, our exits blocked by the two girls, when I heard the metallic click of a revolver. The two girls held revolvers aimed at us, and their eyes made it clear they knew how to use them.

" _Es bueno volver a encontrarnos_, gentlemen," the older began, her voice held the faint trace of a Spanish accent. "Our mistress sends you her compliments."


	2. Chapter 2

I stared at the young women who stood before us. They were so young but they had none of the innocence one would expect of girls their age. Their eyes were cold and showed age beyond their years. It unnerved me; a decorated veteran scared by a couple of girls. Holmes, on the other hand, was careful not to let them see whatever fear he felt. My detective turned to me.

"Here are a fine of example of the outstanding ladies that school produces," my companion walked towards them. "Every inch the perfect lady and cold hearted killer."

The older girl smiled a cold beautiful smile. "My mistress was fair. She gave you clear warning not to poke your nose where it was not wanted. Yet you persist. It is clear that you need more persuasion, and neither my friend or I came here to talk."

"Quite." Holmes agreed.

I had not thought that evening when I had suggested we take a walk that I would be fighting against a couple of school girls. The idea would have seemed preposterous; but not now. The Spanish girl began her assault of my detective, a blur of quick jabs and kicks, and even Holmes was struggling to defend himself from her blows. The younger girl advanced towards me and I gripped my cane tight. I had no wish to injure the girl, to strike her, and yet it seemed inevitable. The younger girl looked at me, preparing to strike, when I swung my cane out, knocking the girl off her feet. This was not a gentlemanly thing to do, but I had no desire to cause the girl any harm or to die that evening by her hands. She swore, scrambling for her fallen revolver, and I could scarcely believe the face that looked up at me. I saw not the face of a ruthless, cold hearted assassin but the face of the scared 16 year old girl. Her indigo eyes were wide beneath her blonde fringe and curls. I did not know which was worse, that I knew the girl, or that her revolver was pointed at my heart.

"Cousin John!" her voice was broken, her fingers loosened on the trigger, and I caught a glimpse of a fragile girl.

"Please, Violet," I found myself pleading with my cousin. "Don't do this. You're just a child!"

"I am a child no longer!" she angrily spat, pulling back the hammer of the revolver. "And you would do well to remember that!"

"Violet, I implore you!" I had not planned to die like this, at the hands my blood relative, nor did I plan to see her turned into a hardened killer. "What would your brother think? This is not you!"

"What would you know?"

I watched in horror unable to do anything as she raised the revolver, her finger tightening on the trigger. I looked at my detective, who was fighting a losing battle against the older girl, and knew that he could not help me now. Violet squeezed the trigger and the shot rang out, acrid smoke filling the air. It was though time had frozen; all of us paused, eyes wide, wondering if the bullet had found its home. Yet I felt no white hot pain, no warm damp blood. Perhaps she had missed? No, her eyes had made it clear that she and her companion did not miss. My mind raced. What if her companion had shot Holmes? I looked at him. He was not injured, but in fact holding a smoking revolver. My cousin slumped against me, feebly grasping at my lapels. I pulled my hands away from her in disgust. They were red and sticky. The older girl was outraged, bringing the butt of her revolver crashing down against Holmes's forehead.

_"¡Hijo de puta!_" the older girl growled in rapid Spanish. _"Usted tendra que pagar un alto precio por esto!"_

Holmes wiped away the blood that had begun to trickle down his face with his sleeve. _"¿Princesa Esmeralda, donde ha estado? Que tan has caido, su alteza."_

"Go to the devil!" The Spanish girl snapped in English.

The older girl led my cousin away into the night. I felt sick. Her blood covered my hands and my clothes. I limped over to my companion, who was attempting to get to his feet. He had shot Violet and I was angry with him, but he was injured also and as a doctor to see that he was well was more urgent then my anger. I could see that he was visibly shaken by our evening stroll, but he brushed it off, insisting that he would be fine once he reached Baker Street. We were in fact not far off our lodgings in Baker Street, and I yet I hailed a cab, not having the strength to walk. I tried to shut out what had just happened, but all I could see were the wide, frightened eyes of my cousin.

Once inside our lodgings I saw immediately to my detective's gash on his head. I cleaned away the blood that had begun to matt in his wavy brown locks, not uttering a word to him. His brown eyes caught my blue ones. I looked away, throwing the cloth into the basin of warm water. I sighed.

"Dearest Watson, I know that you are angry with me." Holmes knew me too well. He knew that I needed to say my piece, and he would let me shout and rave until I was blue in the face as long as I felt better for it.

"Yes. You shot her Holmes! She was just a child and you shot her!" I replied.

"Watson! She was going to kill you! She had a revolver aimed at you!"

"I don't believe she would have pulled the trigger!" I snapped. "She is just a child!"

Holmes grabbed hold of my arm and forced me to look at him. "Yes, Watson, a child who knows how to handle a revolver expertly!"

I had not the chance to reply when there was a frantic knocking at the front door. I heard Mrs Hudson open the door and a voice ask for me. Our landlady replied that I was busy, but I knew the voice. I left the parlour and walked onto the landing. Before me stood my cousin, James Rain, clothing stained crimson. My heart fell. He looked up at me, catching his breath, clearly trying to hold back tears.

"Cousin John, I am sorry for disturbing you, but I beg of you, please come with me!" "Whatever has happened?" I asked, although I already knew the answer. "Is that blood yours?"

"Please! It's my sister! It's Violet! I fear she is dying!"

My heart sank and I felt sick to the very core of my stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

It was with a heavy heart and a sick feeling that I went with my cousin to his lodgings. I did not want to see the damage that had been done; that I had been a part in. James, at least, was ignorant of what had actually occurred and I had no desire to cause him further grief by telling him how his sister came to bleeding to death. We ran all the way back to his lodgings, pausing only for breath when we had reached the door to his own bed chambers. He pushed open the door.

"I put her in my bed. Oh, please, John, please help her." My cousin looked as though he might break down.

"I'll do what I can." I told him, placing a reassuring arm round him. "I think it best that you calm down, James. Have your land lady make some tea."

James nodded and left for the kitchen. Reluctantly, I entered his bed chambers, not wanting to confront what I had had a part in. As I doctor, I have seen many things, but none had prepared me for such a sight. My cousin Violet lay barely conscious in the arms of the older Spanish girl, her shirt front now a deep crimson, bloody towels nearby. The Spanish girl gently held her, whispered soothing things in her native tongue every time violet cried out. I ran over to the bedside, placing my bag on the table. The older girl looked up.

"What are you doing here, señor?" she demanded in a voice that suggested she was used to giving orders. "come to observe your lover's handy work?"

I rolled up my sleeves. "No, I came here to help. And you?"

"I care about Violeta! I care about her and her brother!" the Spanish girl crossed the room so that she stood in the doorway. She looked at me, brilliant green eyes piercing. "Whatever you may think of us, know this; we did not choose this lifestyle. It was forced upon us. Adios, señor."

It was well into the early hours of the morning when I returned to my own home in Baker Street. I had never felt such guilt and upset as ascended the stairs. I pushed the parlour door open and threw my bag to the floor ad my coat over the armchair. I must have looked a sight; my waistcoat and shirt were ruined, stained a vivid red. Holmes had waited up for me, his face apprehensive. Out of character, my detective cautiously approached me.

"John?" he rarely used my Christian name.

"Just tell me Holmes," I paused to light a cigarette. My hands shook and were a faint pink. "Just tell me what on Earth it was that you were doing at that girls school?"

"John, I told you, I was…"

I cut him short. I exploded angrily "No, you told me nothing! Whatever it was, I hope it was worth it because I had to tell James that his sister might not make it through the night! I swear to God, Holmes, if I have to return in the morning to pronounce Violet dead, then you will have to find another to pay the rent!"

Holmes's eyes widened. Never before had I threatened to leave him, even after our worst arguments, but this had gone too far. Silently he poured brandy and handed it to me. I muttered thank you and knocked it straight back. Holmes slumped down on the tiger skin rug and I on the sofa. For a while there was a tense angry silence that hung in the air before he finally broke it.

"my dearest Watson, I know that you are upset, but she had a revolver pointed at you. I could not let her have killed you."

I sighed. "Holmes, I do not think that she would have pulled that trigger. She was just a child! A child who may not see tomorrow because you and I were poking our noses. Just tell me this; what did you find that gave their mistress such cause to silence us permanently?"

"The Spanish girl." My detective stated. "The Spanish girl is what we were not meant to discover."


	4. Chapter 4

My detective rose from the rug to a pile of newspapers. He briefly sorted through the pile before handing to me a worn newspaper in Spanish. I had no idea what the paper said and Holmes motioned for me to look at the photograph. I took in the image and couldn't quite believe the face of the girl that looked up at me.

"This is the Spanish girl!" I waved the paper in his face. "But she is not the only foreign girl in London, so why her?"

"Because, dearest Watson, she is not just any Spanish girl. We had the honour of almost being killed by her Royal Highness Princesa Esmeralda Vamierez, the missing princess of the household of Vamierez."

This was ludicrous to me. If I had not known Holmes as well as I did, I would have thought him to be jesting. But I knew he was not. It still made no sense to me, none the less. Holmes and myself had almost been murdered over a missing princess, and my cousin Violet lay dying over it. Just what an earth was the Spanish princess doing in London in a girls school? Did the girl herself even know who she really was? My detective, as though he had read my thoughts, answered my question.

"You see Watson, some twelve years ago, there was a dreadful, shall we say, accident where only the prince survived. Both his parents were killed and his sister was missing and believed dead. No trace of her was found and for the next twelve years nothing was heard of her." There was a pause as he lit his pipe. "Perhaps the mistress of the school, who I believe is responsible for arranging that certain accident, thought the princess would remain undiscovered until I was asked to investigate the school. Who'd have thought that she would have been in London all this time?"

"Does the girl know who she is?" I asked.

"I believe that she does because when I addressed her properly, she reacted and answered to it."

"I don't get it, Holmes. Why go to all the trouble of kidnapping a princess and then turning her into a ruthless killer? What is there to gain?"

My detective looked at me, a determined glint in his brown eyes. "My guess is blackmail. But I'll be certain once I do some more investigating."

No. I would not allow him to foolishly get himself killed for certain this time. Hadn't enough people been hurt over this? My cousin lay fighting for her life, and we had barely got away with ours. The crimson stains on my clothing were a reminder that enough people had been hurt tonight. I rose from the sofa and took hold of Holmes. He looked at me, a confused expression on his face.

"No, Holmes. I forbid you to." My voice held a steely resolve.

"But, Watson, I …"

"NO!" I cut him off. "Don't you think enough people have been hurt tonight over this? Damn it, we almost died! What do you suppose I would have done if the Spanish girl had killed you? For once, Holmes, I implore you, leave this be. Enough blood has been split over this."

My detective nodded his head, sighing. "Yes, John, I believe you are right."

It was a few weeks after that awful night when I was walking through the park on my way home from my practice when I saw Violet sat on a bench wrapped in a thick blanket, and her brother walking arm in arm with a young woman not far from her. I walked over to her and sat down. She looked at me and offered me a little smile. I returned the smile.

"Good evening, Violet. I'm glad to see you well again."

"Cousin John." She smiled, before returning her gaze back to her brother and the young woman. "Our landlady's niece just moved down from Scotland. My brother's taken quite a shine to her."

There was silence that hung in the summer air for a while before my cousin turned to me, her indigo eyes cast at the floor.

"I am truly sorry, Cousin John. For what I did." Her voice was barely a whisper. "you will be pleased to hear that James thought it best that I should live with him now. I know I'm glad for it. I am very sorry. You can never know how sorry I will be."

I took my cousin into my arms, pulling her into an embrace.


End file.
